Why is the homeless man touching me? How did he get into this event? Wait, they’re taking our picture - is he famous? Or are they mocking me? It’s getting so difficult to tell these days. I’m so out of touch with youth culture. My god… I’m becoming Don Draper. I’M HAVE BECOME THE THING I HATE.
"I’m about to lose my freaking mind and take all of you with me. Seriously. Jesus, now my right cheek is seizing up I’m freaking out so bad, it’s going to tear my face in half, I can’t even control it. Someone, please, kill me. Kill me now."
"What am I doing – does this even look natural? I don’t even know how to smile anymore. Maybe I never knew how to smile."
"Heh, yeah, I’m laughing but what you don’t know is that at this point in my life I’m terrified of everyone and everything but if I keep smiling, maybe that will stop them from leaping over the barricades, attacking me, tearing me apart and feasting on my entrails. For a time at least. For a time."
"It’s written all over my face isn’t it? Everyone can see it. Please. Stop staring at me. Please."
"Sometimes when I’m in the middle of a deep sleep I’ll wake up suddenly and I’ll be smiling this same smile and I think… I think I’m smiling at the paparazzi. They’ve invaded my dreams. Jesus. They’ve invaded my dreams."
"If only someone could hear my thoughts they’d know I’m a freaking hair’s breadth away from going postal all over this freaking place. I’m about to lose my shit completely. I’m this close, I swear to god."
"Why? Always, the existential ‘Why?’ It torments me."
"If I ever stop smiling, I’m pretty sure I’ll never stop crying."
"I’m going to hold my breath while they take this picture. Maybe then, just maybe they’ll get the shot they’re all desperate for. The shot of my head literally exploding. The real me. All over their nice, clean camera lenses."